At the End of Ages
by Cristokos
Summary: Here is the tale of Anton Kaiser, a jaded information thief who, at 182 years old, has not aged a day over 25. Through his recurring encounters with Shepard and his crew, he'll face great danger, discover true friendship, fall in love - twice - and seek the truth about his strange fate - a secret which could forever change history. M-Shep/Liara, unrequited OC/Liara, OC/?
1. Enter: Anton Kaiser

A/N: So, this fan-fic is essentially about a guy who stopped aging when he turned 25 and has survived up until the Mass Effect era. This is the story of a man who outlived his family, his friends, and his country and his recurring encounters and adventures with Shepard and his squad. It will be both on and off the battlefield.

The story will mostly proceed chronologically, but sometimes it may jump forward or backward. Some chapters might be entirely Anton based, perhaps some in where he talks about Earth's history since he was born, or the differences between the late 22nd century and the early 21st. But it will include a lot of the ME3 characters because, well, without them, it's not Mass Effect!

Anton is not a self-insert. The only real trait we share is a liking for languages. And I am not German at all.

Please review! Constructive criticism welcome! Hope you guys enjoy!

P.S. Since Anton is half-German, there will be occasional German in this story. None of it will be critical, but you can use a translator or PM me and ask me to translate it if you are curious!

Disclaimer: I do not own Shepard or any of the characters of the Mass Effect series. They all belong to Bioware; only Anton is mine!

* * *

_Opa? Was wohnt im Weltall?_

_Im Weltall? Da wohnt niemand, mein Liebling, weil es zu kalt ist!_

_Opa, du weißt, was ich meine!_

_Ich mache Spaß, Kerlchen. Es gibt schließlich andere Planeten...aber das, was drauf wohnt, können wir uns noch nicht vorstellen...aber eines Tages schon..._

* * *

_April 19th, 2178 AD_

* * *

Anton slowly came to consciousness, immediately and acutely aware of an impending hangover readying to drive a jackhammer into his skull. For what must have been the thousandth time in his almost-two centuries of life, he cursed himself for not having had the sense of mind to not drink to such excess; he had essentially thrown all his money at that cute Asari bartender and put more alcohol in his system than should have been possible for a human being. He vaguely remembered another beautiful Asari wondering if he had died.

But we was alive. Oh gods, the iron bolt being pounded into his skull reminded him of that.

He lay there in abject misery for twenty minutes before he finally opened his eyes, noticing that he was in a dark room. He took that as a sign that it was going to be a good day, since any source of bright light would have been incredibly painful. The air was cool, somewhat damp, and felt pleasant on his sweat-covered skin.

As far as Anton could tell, he was alone. Drunk Anton, though a tricksy bastard, always made sure to find rest in a hidden place.

Fighting through the hangover, Anton fumbled through his suit and found his golden flask, in which he kept emergency water just for mornings like this. He could tell his body had heated it to a somewhat unpleasant temperature, but this was the only way he could counteract the dehydrating effects of ethanol and cure his hangover. He forced as much of it down his throat, slightly easing him, but the earthquake ravaging his skull barely noticed. And the drink brought forth one more unfortunate revelation.

He really, really needed to piss.

Driven by the emergency, he managed to force himself up and grab purchase on a nearby crate. He spied a slit of light, obviously marking the location of an exit, and felt his way through the darkness. He was mostly successful at avoiding crates and other objects, though not without a few bruises. Stepping over one last small crate, he managed to get to the door and opened it with his moist, sweat-covered hand. The minute his hand made contact with the metal, he cursed himself yet again. The allergic reaction wouldn't start for a little while, so he could focus on the call of nature, but he would be contemplating ripping off his own skin within the hour.

He lied. This was not looking like such an auspicious day after all.

He stumbled out through the door and took a look around, making two very unfortunate discoveries. First, he was now in one of the crappiest levels of the Zakera Ward, which meant he probably had was going to need to wash his clothes four or five times before he felt decent enough to out into public again. It really was amazing how the smell of this part of the wards could stick on your clothes...sometimes, it felt like the odor stuck to his very skin.

Of lesser concern, he now surrounded by six C-Sec officers: three turians, two humans, and one Asari who did look most appealing in that uniform, in Anton's entirely not humble opinion. All of them had pistols drawn on him.

While an invisible jackass, surely doomed to burn in Metaphor-Hell, continued to pound iron stakes straight into his brutalized skull, Anton quickly assessed and reassessed the situation. There was no way he could win in a straight fight. He was damn good, but ten seconds of direct combat with these odds would quickly see him become a squishy cushion full of bullets. And his sister had always told him his pretty face was all he had going for him. That thought brought a chuckle.

"I wouldn't be laughing if I were you, Anton," one of the turians warned, his face alight with triumph. Anton squinted at the unknown officer. This new recruit was an unknown variable; Anton could name every one of his other assailants, their homeworlds, and knew their service records. But this new Turian, clad in sturdy blue armor, had an interesting...aura. It was like there was some flame within him. And certainly knew how to use the gun in his hand.

Yes, indeed, he was an unknown variable, but Anton did not expect too much trouble. After all, he was the best.

Anton turned towards the commanding officer, a turian he recognized very well. The bastard had already led three raids to try and capture Anton. The fool still thought he could succeed.

"Well, well Kaias, I see you've brought fresh blood. And he looks like he knows how to hold a gun. I'm impressed, which is why I will give you once chance to surrender. Drop your weapons and flee, and things won't get ugly," he stated, his voice laden with both amusement and arrogance. Both tones would get Kaias' blood running...and irritation would weaken him.

Kaias cocked his gun and met Anton's gaze with a level stare. "It's over, Anton. Surrender and we won't gun you down."

Anton tsked and shook his head in mock disappointment. In truth, he wouldn't have it any other way: this was the most fun! And Kaias had stepped up his game. Anton felt the excitement, the anticipation of the chase, the sweet taste of triumph when he eluded yet another

"My feelings are hurt, Kaias! After all these years I've avoided killing anyone from C-Sec - haven't even killed one officer - and you're just going to gun me down in cold blood? For shame!" he chided with his best mockingly motherly tone.

Really, chided was a silly word. He liked the word _chid_, the old past-tense form of _chide._

He turned to the asari and flashed his most irresistible, winning grin. "Sayira, my love, it has been far too long since we last met, and you've only become more radiant and intoxicating. Are you ever going to take me up on that offer for dinner? I know a lovely place in the Presidium where they serve the finest cuisine from Thessia."

The purple-skinned Asari maiden chuckled. "You're shameless, Anton. And these guns shoot stunning darts, not deadly bullets," she said with no small degree of mirth.

Anton flashed her another grin out of gratitude and took a half-step back towards the door. The small talk, shameless flirting, his efforts to bait Kaias, all would buy him a little time...more than enough to get ready, even if his reflexes were slowed by this accursed headache that made him want to scream.

The new recruit quickly rounded on Sayira. "Don't _flirt_ with him!" he hissed.

_Quite a temper on that one_, Anton mused.

"Shut up, Garrus," she spat, "or I'll knock your dumb ass onto the floor because you can even call me a bitch. I was in C-Sec before your father was even born."

"Enough!" Kaias bellowed, his voice cracking the whip of authority, tempered with years of experience. "Anton, I have had enough of your games. You are unarmed, surrounded, and completely outmatched. Surrender now or we'll pump you full of tranquilizers and drag you bag to C- Sec face first on the ground!"

Anton's smile fell and his face lost all traces of mirth, his lips curling into a snarl. His baby-blue eyes, normally warm and bursting with cheer, hardened and froze. He moved his hand imperceptibly to his waist, readying his means of escape. Just before he ran though, he had one last thing to say in a language he had not spoken in over a decade.

_"Zum Teufel mit euch!"_ he shouted furiously, the German rolling off his tongue.

Focusing through the splitting pain caused by the nuclear war raging in his head, he deftly took two steps backwards and spun around with agility that should have been beyond the capabilities of a sobering-up drunk. His fingers instantly found his special smoke bombs, which he tossed in front of him. The minute the cluster grenades hit the floor and started bouncing, the C-Sec officers jumped out of the way to avoid certain death by a cloud of furious shrapnel.

"Hit the deck!" Kaias shouted. All of the officers jumped away and hit behind crates or dropped to the floor.

_Idiots._

A moment later, the bombs opened with a hiss and thick smoke began to pour out of them, smothering the entire area in a foul miasma. The gas would impair their vision, make them cough out their lungs (not literally), and, thanks to some innovation from the galaxy's greatest genius, screw with any sensors as well. Ashes to thermal vision!

He sprinted to the right, being sure to kick the new recruit swiftly and furiously in the thigh, bringing him to the floor, a turian curse bursting from his mouth. He didn't stop to inflict any more damage; he just kept sprinting. After a few minutes, the smoke cloud and sound of hacking and coughing receded far behind him.

He almost ran into the wall when he turned his head to take a quick peek back. He stopped himself just in time before he broke his nose and hopped back. He scanned the area and saw that he was flanked on both sides by hallways. Thankfully, he had figured out exactly where he was, and he knew both hallways would be good escapes. And if he knew that, he could escape these C-Sec idiots easily. He turned to the right and threw two smoke bombs, both remotely controlled by him, as far as he could down the hall. He then whipped around and sped down the hall to the left, ducking behind the first corner. These officers were good, but Kaias was likely too pissed by now to think things thorough. The smoke bombs would leave false evidence of his passage, and Kaias would probably follow it.

He began to control his breathing and forced some more water down his throat. A familiar itching sensation began to consume his entire left hand. Dammit, he had hoped he could avoid the allergic reaction to metal for a while longer...

Within twenty seconds, he heard his pursuers run up to the fork. A second later, the bomb went off, and Sayira shouted in alarm.

"He went to the right!" one of the humans shouted, his voice betraying a heavy American accent.

The new turian recruit answered him, his voice tinged with irritation. "Sir, he's crafty. What if he set off the smoke bomb there to mislead us?" Anton could almost feel the adrenaline in the turian...well, actually, he didn't know if turians had adrenaline, but whatever.

_Oh...he's good._

"Perhaps we should split up to cover more ground," he continued.

_Perhaps not..._

Kaias remained silent for three precious seconds before responding. "If we split up, we're screwed. We have to make a choice, and I am ordering all of you to get your asses down that hall! Move or we're going to lose him!"

The imbeciles immediately charged in the opposite direction of their quarry. Anton waited, clutching his head as hard as he could, before he deemed he was safe. He stood up, letting out a sigh of relief. The close call right after he woke up had made his shoulders get tense...he'd need them rubbed soon. Maybe finding an attractive person with soft hands should be his goal tonight. After his hand stopped making him want to scream though.

He felt a sharp pain in his bladder, and then all other concerns were driven from his mind by nature's primal call.

* * *

Garrus tapped his head plating in frustration. They had sent a six-man team to take down Anton Kaiser, but somehow their target had escaped. Where Vakarian had hoped catching an infamous criminal would be a jumpstart to his career, their mission was just now one of many failed attempts to capture him. So much effort and so many resources to capture a human kid, not more than 25 years old...

The operation had been set up foolishly. They had underestimated him and fewer men than were needed. Furthermore, they should have tried to trap him rather than attack him in one of his own dens. C-Sec's strategy department had dropped the ball on this one, and when he got back to the academy, we was going to make damn sure they knew it.

Garrus had never been good at keeping his mouth shut. In keeping with that age-old tradition he gruffly voiced these concerns to Lieutenant Kaias, bracing himself for a furious rebuke. Questioning your superior's wisdom in such a fashion was...

...well, it was just what he would do.

And yet, Kaias just laughed.

Garrus, had he been human, would have let his jaw drop to the floor. Instead, he just stared blankly, not comprehending the humor present in the situation.

"How is this funny? It was stupid to assault him when he was on top of his game and in one of his dens!" he stated with force.

Kaias only laughed harder. "Top of his game? His _den_? Vakarian, that human was so hungover he couldn't even see! And we didn't attack him in one of his "_dens_." That was just a random storeroom he passed out in last night after drinking himself under the table!"

Garrus continued to stare, shock rendering him dumb. They had been outmatched by a human kid recovering from a party? They, officers of C-Sec? A dark, hateful tinge of humiliation started to seep into his spirit. Kaias didn't seem to notice, because he soon signaled that they should move out.

But Garrus had one last question. "So he's a human kid and he was drunk? Obviously he must be good because he escaped...but if we had caught him in a real fight, we would have overpowered him."

Kaias gave Garrus a questioning look. "Your point, Vakarian?"

Garrus continued. "Why didn't you listen to me when I said we should split up? He's never even killed a C-Sec officer!"

Kaias gave Garrus a long, measured look, seeming to carefully consider his words. Sayira and the humans pointedly avoided paying attention to their conversation. The other turian just watched the exit to the wards as if at any moment, Anton might sprint through.

After a minute, Kaias shook his head and sighed, letting his anger depart him. He turned to Garrus, placed his hand on the younger officer's shoulder and pointed down the path they had taken, in the direction their quarry had fled. Garrus turned and gazed, not seeing anything of importance. Before he could question this, Kaias spoke.

" He doesn't kill C-Sec officers because he's never had to; never once have we ever come close to catching him. Actually, today might be the closest we've ever gotten. But fight him one-on-one? You see Vakarian, a lot of people have tried that. Most of them are dead. We're lucky; he'll just knock us out cold and rob us blind."

Garrus cursed. "But who is he even? He's just some human kid with a title and a reputation! How can he be so dangerous and why is C-Sec wasting time trying to capture him? We've got bigger problems to worry about, sir."

Kaias shook his head heavily, then turning and staring down the hall through which they followed the false trail. Vakarian, like many new recruits, had not been with C-Sec long enough to appreciate exactly what they were up against. It was time he learned.

"That kid, the one they call the Shadowdancer? He's one of the craftiest and smartest humans alive... also one of the most dangerous idiots in the galaxy."


	2. Every Great Quest Starts at a Bar

A/N: So here is where the adventure begins. Or rather, where the origins of it begin!

There's not much action in this chapter, but I thought it was important anyways. Things will pick up fairly quickly!

It also seems I have some people following this story. Thanks a lot guys! That makes me feel more inspired to keep on writing. So, if you read this, please review! Although of course that's not required. Like I said before, constructive criticism is always welcome! I'm really trying to improve my writing and kind of find my own style.

Enjoy!

* * *

_Oh Garrus, how I've missed you. You never call me anymore._

_Give me a reason not to kill you where you stand, Anton._

_You're on your knees and I have a gun to your head._

_Point taken._

* * *

_March 14th, 2183 AD_

* * *

Anton had always liked Chora's Den. True, it was a disgusting pit of salacious sins and shady dealings, but therein lied its charm. The drinks were crap but cheap and the bar was frequented often by attractive, lower-class humans. The music, the dancers, the gambling and boozing all created a certain...energy. Yet no one was really interested in what was going on at the next table. No one would pay attention to him or disturb him. He was surrounded by life, but he could be lost in his thoughts.

Right now, however, he was being distracted from his contemplations by everyone's least favorite killjoy: Kaelon. The salarian had an unusually dour and decidedly negative personality that acted as a repellent to most sapient creatures, particularly other salarians. Though at 21 he was only halfway through his life, he talked as if he were standing at this very moment in front of death's door. Anton idly wondered if he should help the depressing amphibian take the last steps through...

Anton mentally sighed. As unpleasant as Kaelon was, he was also an incredibly useful source of information, far too valuable to lose to a mercy-killing. He knew jack-shit about the salarian's sources; he sure as hell didn't get his intel by buttering up powerful people with a few drinks and pleasant conversation. Yet Anton didn't really care about his contact's methods. All he needed was a steady supply of information so he could stay entertained.

"Are you wasting my time, Anton? Cause I can split," the surly little creature demanded. He blinked, his moist, amphibian lids swiftly sweeping over his eyes from bottom to top. Anton remembered that it had taken him a full year to get used to how creepy that was.

The human shook himself out of his thoughts and met the alien's gaze. "'Split'? Have you been practicing your human idioms, Kaelon? I suppose I should be flattered. Now please repeat whatever you were prattling on about," he replied smoothly. Insulting the salarian wouldn't threaten his chances; the enticing smell of credits would keep him practically glued to this table until Anton paid him.

"_As I was saying_, since you were asking about that one guy at C-Sec, he's been put on a new mission. Real sensitive, real secret, and probably just what you're looking for," Kaelon repeated, his face twisted into the salarian equivalent of a sour grimace.

"Interesting. Please do go on," Anton said, his words and curiosity genuine.

"You're gonna shit your pants when you hear this: Vakarian's investigating the Council's poster-boy Spectre," Kaelon whispered, a rare tinge of excitement coloring his squeaky voice.

Anton almost dropped his glass. A _Spectre_ under investigation by C-Sec? That had never happened. At least, it sure as hell hadn't happened since humanity had joined the galaxy. This was _big_. No wonder Vakarian had stopped his pursuit of the infamous "Shadowdancer." A Spectre was a much more enticing target...and, though Anton hated to admit it, much more dangerous.

_But give yourself credit, kid. Surely he's not _that_ much more dangerous._

But the Council's "poster-boy"? There was only one man that could be...or rather, one turian.

"He's investigating Saren Arterius? Are you trying to pull a fast one on me, Kaelon? 'Cause if you are, I'll have some thug throw your slimy ass out of the nearest airlock before you can even start depressing him," Anton replied, lacing his words with a threatening tone.

Kaelon glared, distinct, furious flames smoldering in his eyes. If there was one thing in the galaxy that could dispel the perpetual cloud of gloom that trailed him, it was anger, and Anton had just questioned the salarian's skill as a source of information. That was not a smooth move, but Anton wasn't worried.

Showing admirable and atypical restraint, Kaelon fought down his rage and continued as calmly as he could manage. "First, keep your fucking voice down. Second, I'm serious! The Alliance is accusing him of leading that attack on Eden Prime," he rebutted.

Eden Prime? Anton had heard of that attack, though only vague details. But whoever attacked a human colony would earn the wrath of the Systems Alliance...and if Vakarian was investigating a bloody _Spectre_, there was simply no way Anton couldn't get in on the fun. Interfering would keep him amused for a while, and that, in turn, would spare his wallet from being drained by continuous purchase of alcohol in sleazy bars. Most importantly, if he could find a way to piss off Vakarian, the turian would surely get back to the futile but merry pursuit of the Shadowdancer.

But oh, it was risky. If C-Sec was looking for dirt on a Spectre, they would be throwing a ludicrous amount of resources at the investigation. They'd have their best and brightest officers scouring the Citadel for information, not like the trash they'd used to send after him before he embarrassed Kaias one too many times. And if Anton got caught...well, C-Sec was not renowned for its mercy or leniency.

_Unless_, he thought, _the Council is trying to keep this hushed. C-Sec might purposely cripple Garrus' efforts by denying him crucial resources and giving him a batch of incompetents who could hardly tie their shoes without a manual._

Anton hoped not. That wouldn't be as fun. Yet either way, Anton had to get in on the show. The alternative, withering away from boredom in the Wards, was too horrifying for him to even consider facing.

"Anything else?"

Kaelon sipped at his drink for the first time since he'd sat down. "No. That's all I got," he answered tersely.

The information was pure gold and worth plenty of money. Anton had learned long ago that the best way to keep the services of a good contact, particularly one as sullen and unlikeable as Kaelon, whom he would never willingly meet up for drinks, was to be generous. He took some credits out of his wallet, thankful they were plastic. He refused to use omnitool transactions unless he had to; physical currency was much harder to track. He tossed a thousand credits to the salarian: 300 more than the information was worth. Kaelon looked at the credits questioningly, though he would never voice his curiosity to Anton, fearful the human might change his mind about his generosity. But Anton decided to answer the question for him.

"The extra money's for you to spend. Go somewhere. See a show; start a project; take some beautiful, big-titted Asari out to dinner, marry her, and have an entire brood of beautiful blue children. You're twenty years old and more bitter than a half-millennial Krogan. I've survived more wars than you count on your hands and watched the most beautiful planet in the galaxy burn. I've heard the primal screams of terror from people fleeing firestorms and bombs; I've heard the heaving sobs of a million bereaved parents; I've seen the dejected expressions on the scarred faces of an endless deluge of desperate refugees, sunk into the deepest, darkest realms of despair, utterly bereft of hope."

Anton downed his drink and turned a measured, icy gaze on the salarian, whose anger had faded into shock. "I guess what I'm saying is that I have seen much, _much_ more misery in this galaxy than you have or ever will. And yet, I smile and I laugh and I manage to lead something that might approximate a life. So my words of wisdom to you: get the hell over yourself and stop wasting your short life depressing everyone."

Anton rose swiftly, Kaelon staring at him with wide eyes. He nodded curtly to the shell-shocked salarian, turned on his heel, and walked towards the exit.

As he lazily exited Chora's Den, a booming cry of triumph and joyous laughter caught his ear. He turned and saw a group of Alliance soldiers enjoying what must be a riveting game of poker; even the losers seemed to be in good spirits. The winner was clearly obvious, distinguished by his massive arms thrown above him in a good-natured display of his glorious victory and a smile that stretched ear-to-ear. His face, covered in day-old stubble, positively beamed, far more brilliantly than the dimmed neon lights of the bar.

There was something about the winner that pulled Anton's eye. He was ridiculously ripped and reminded Anton of two brick shithouses stacked on top of each other, except (obviously) far more attractive. Actually, the soldier was positively sizzling. His tanned skin and dark hair, crudely forced into a faux-hawk, indicated a likely Latino ancestry. He couldn't be past his early twenties...more than a century and a half his junior.

_Still legal,_ Anton mused before chuckling. He really was shameless.

"If we keep playing against you, Vega, we'll be bare-assed within the hour!" one of the losers announced, his goofy smile and roaring laughter indicating that he really didn't mind.

_Wouldn't mind seeing that!_

The muscled solider laughed loudly. "Then you'd better be drunk by then, Sticks!" To aid in the war against sobriety, Vega treated his friends to another round of drinks with some of his winnings.

_Sticks?_ Anton wondered. Obviously a silly and mocking nickname, and likely one with a fairly distasteful tale behind it. Judging by his accent, Anton deduced that this Vega hailed from California. The dialects there had become very...distinct in the past two centuries. He wondered...

Anton sighed heavily and stopped wondering. His curiosity had been piqued, and he really, really wanted to move in on a potential conquest. Unfortunately, he had far more pressing matters to attend to. He needed to get moving before Vakarian managed to dredge up the dirt on the Spectre before Anton could have some fun at the turian's expense.

But one unpleasant thought came unbidden to him, having crossed across the boundless sea of time almost two centuries to the present, likely because of his rebuking Kaelon moments ago. When it arrived, the smile fell from his face and a veil passed over his eyes, but as quickly as it came, it vanished into the abyss, its passing unmarked and forgotten.

* * *

Right after the drinks arrived, James swung his head to the left. He felt like there was something he was looking for, but he couldn't place it. He scanned the entire bar but saw nothing except drunks, gamblers, and the occasional asari dancer. But just as he was about to dismiss the strange feeling, he spied someone near the door to the den.

It was just some guy. His solid stance and easy expression made him look comfortable and secure here, as if he owned the bar. His hair tinged slightly red was cut short, though far longer than military length. His skin was somewhat darker than the average white-guy, but besides that, there wasn't anything remarkable about him...

...at least until James saw his eyes.

Lost. The kid's eyes looked lost. A dark, distant veil briefly passed over the man's youthful face before quickly being subsumed under a neutral expression. And Vega was damn sure he could see something else...

...old. Those eyes looked _old_. But the kid couldn't be much older than him...

Suddenly, the stranger shook his head, collected himself, and left the bar. James stared after him until the doors closed. Then the marine next to him slapped him on the shoulder and called for a toast before the next game of poker. Amid the boisterous cheer and pounding music of the den, the thought of the stranger faded rapidly from James Vega's mind, soon replaced by the haze of alcohol and the mirth of a good night of shore leave.


	3. Boredom - The Father of Sin

A/N: So, this is the third chapter. Sorry I haven't updated in a while...moving back to the US was a bit chaotic and I didn't have much time or energy to really get down to writing. But hopefully I shall update again soon!

I hope you guys enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it! Leave some reviews and let me know what you think about it and the story in general. Definitely don't mind some constructive criticism, but destructive criticism is of no use to me or anyone.

Thanks guys!

* * *

_Tali, have I ever told you how ravishing you are?_

_You've never even seen me without my suit._

_I don't need to, babe._

_Anton, go away before I toss you into the drive core._

_I love it when you talk dirty to me._

* * *

"Oh, spare me your mewling and give me the damn password before I pistol whip you to Hell," Anton ordered, a cruel edge tainting his otherwise mirthful voice. He was rapidly losing patience with the human officer who rudely and stubbornly refused to divulge the password to the terminal, as if it would somehow alter the inevitable outcome. He had graciously explained to the man that if he would simply cooperate, Anton would simply beat him up just a bit more and then the poor guy could explain he had resisted as much as he could. Knowing C-Sec and its increasingly lax and embarrassingly lazy administration, the fool would just get a pat on the back and for his "heroism" in the face of dire odds. It might even get him laid. Only a turian would dare fault him, but they would secretly wonder to themselves if they could have fared any better against the infamous and feared Shadowdancer.

The answer, of course, was a firm and resounding _no._

"Fuck you!" the officer shouted, immediately following his rebuke by spitting blood and snot onto Anton's new boots.

Anton, cold fury supplanting his irritation, responded with one swift kick to the face which sent the man reeling. He then delivered another blow with his fist to the officer's blood-stained face, and the broken, bruised, but frankly impressively tough enforcer of justice fell into unconsciousness, a bleeding heap of human trash sprawled on a metal floor. Anton briefly contemplated putting a bullet into the back of the jerk's head, but decided he wanted to keep up his years-long streak of no C-Sec blood on his hands.

The red-haired rogue sighed, somewhat saddened that things had had to get so violent, but mostly because he didn't feel like expending the energy required to hack the system. But he had no choice except to overcome his inner sloth and get to work, lest his boots have been sullied for nothing.

He walked over to the terminal, nimbly stepping over a small crimson spray of blood left from his fist's first encounter with the officer's face, and put his fingers to the keyboard. They felt most at home here; really, all keyboards were the same, and he had been raised on one. The screen lit up and characters in various languages danced across the screen, lining up into a language selection menu. Anton pressed the button for _Tayasi'en_, a prominent asari tongue that he spoke fluently, and sighed when the next screen came up, cheekily demanding a password and before it would allow him to probe its innermost secrets. The computer was needier than his first girlfriend.

He had, however, come prepared.

He reached into his left pocket, removed a small chip, and slapped it onto the terminal. The screen phased briefly into static before reforming back into a solid picture. The chip was actually a small, ingenious device that utilized a combination of tiny mass effect fields and strong electromagnetic currents to disrupt the computer systems. It wouldn't be very useful for finding passwords, and on a secure C-Sec terminal, it would take five precious minutes to do its job, but…

His patience was rewarded when the screen flashed and the terminal shut down. Within twenty seconds, it had rebooted itself and the language menu flashed up again. He impatiently set it back into _Tayasi'en _and waited for the next screen. One quick flash and a new screen appeared with the golden words he had been waiting to see.

_Please select a new password._

He quickly typed a string of foul obscenities in several languages and pushed forward. C-Sec would crack the password in a minute flat, but that was of no importance to him. What mattered was the stream of beautiful words flying across the screen, access to information on almost every current operation C-Sec had going on. With a few delicate keystrokes, he had honed in on his target, the reason for this entire distasteful one-man assault on a C-Sec outpost. He was now staring directly at all the details of Garrus Vakarian's investigation.

His face fell in disappointment. Thus far, the hot-headed bastard had managed to find nothing of any interest, mostly just two sentences about a past Asari lover who had long since perished. Vakarian was many things, but he was _not_ incompetent. Saren must have done a damn good job of covering his tracks…but what can one expect from a Spectre?

Anton silently cursed under his breath in his father's native language for being such a fool. He should not have let his ennui deceive him into such an idiotic move: C-Sec would now be on his ass for the next five years because of this, and he had nothing to show for it except for a tiny paragraph of data that was about as riveting and shocking as the realization that space is empty and cold. He had hoped to find something that could help him interfere so he could piss off Vakarian, but this was about as useful as an asari without tits.

He backtracked through more menus of various shades, hues, and shapes, causing Anton to wonder if C-Sec employed fashion designers to design their user interface. His search unearthed useful, delicious hints of other going-ons in the Citadel, involving a significant amount of shady folk he was well acquainted with, but nothing relating to the investigation.

_Wait…_

Of course the obvious he had missed him; he was simply too intelligent. He flew through the menu directly to Saren's profile on the list of "persons of interest." At last, he found something worth reading.

_C-Sec has been alerted that the turian Spectre Saren Arterius has been stripped of his Spectre status and is now a rogue agent. If seen, he is to be apprehended immediately. The Council has declined to offer reasons, but the Executor has ordered that all officers are to follow the order. It seems likely that, despite the failure of Vakarian's investigation to turn up compelling evidence regarding the charges that Arterius led the recent geth attack on the human colony of Eden Prime, new information has surfaced that has convinced the Council of Vakarian's guilt. Though some C-Sec officers have expressed reservations about treating a respected turian Spectre as a criminal, the Executor has ordered that the Council's command is to be followed. Failure to do so will result in dismissal and charges of treason will be filed against the offending officer._

Anton almost burst out in laughter. This was just too much; the Council's picture-perfect poster child for their vaunted agents of justice had committed high treason by leading an assault on an allied colony, a crime punishable by death. So much for being a guardian of the peace. Controlling his wicked, sadistic glee, he scanned the rest of the profile but found nothing of importance. Immediately, another target popped into his mind.

He would investigate Vakarian. Pressing a few more buttons, he was at his archenemy's profile within moments. There was much more information on the borderline renegade C-Sec officer who spent most of his time failing at capturing the Shadowdancer than on the secretive and apparently quite boring Spectre. He scanned down to the bottom to see the most recent information.

_Officer Garrus Vakarian has taken temporary leave from his duties on the Citadel and has joined an elite team headed by the first human Spectre, Commander Shepard of the Systems Alliance Navy, to pursue a mission on the authority of the Council. The Executor lodged a complaint with the Council, demanding that Vakarian be ordered back to the Citadel, but his request was firmly rejected. A warning was issued that Vakarian's employment with C-Sec is not to be terminated unless he requests to be relieved permanently of his position._

The rest of the profile consisted of his service records, many of which listed failed raids in pursuit of Anton himself. It seemed that the higher-ups in C-Sec took a fairly dim view of Garrus' predilection for violent raids, blatant disregard for regulations, staunch refusal to politely accept political bullshit, and his general tendency to be an ass. There was a whole list of rebukes and warnings, but Vakarian had never actually been censured or punished. He was one of the best C-Sec had; Anton did not attribute Garrus' string of failures in his endless chase of the red-headed human to incompetence. It was simply that Anton was a genius.

And it was at that very moment that that genius realized he might pay for his arrogance, when he heard a skullsplittingly obnoxious alarm go off and the voices of C-Sec techies trying to open the door he had magnetically sealed behind him. He had maybe five minutes before his fate was sealed and he began the inevitable march to prison, and he would _not _allow that eventuality to come to pass.

He instructed his chip to download the data to his omnitool, which he should have done in the first place. He could analyze the data on his own and sell the juiciest bits for large sums of credits. Selling it would provide him valuable funds that he could spend on…well, anything really. Five seconds and he had it all. He grabbed the chip off the terminal and prepared to make his exit.

He estimated that he had about four and a half minutes to make his great escape. A quick analysis of the room revealed that he had two routes of flight: crawl through a vent or use one of the emergency envirosuits that were conveniently left for personnel in case the room depressurized. It would take him all of a minute to don the suit and shatter the window, after which he could walk across the surface of the Citadel, and duck into another chamber just around the time C-Sec blew through the door. That was the safest option…

…but it would mean that the unconscious cop he had beat the shit out of would die, either from asphyxiation, exposure, or, worst of all, being sucked into the vacuum. There was no way he could put the guy into a suit without sacrificing himself to C-Sec, and using the vents was significantly more risky than the other plan. C-Sec could flood them with sleeping gas or, if he had _really_ pissed them off, plasma, which would kill him instantly. He would have maybe a minute to duck out of the ventilation shafts, and not even he was that quick…

He really did not have moral issues with killing the guy; he had killed many people in the past two centuries who were more saint-like than the battered officer. But he had learned one very important thing in his long life: do _not_ kill cops if you know what is good for you. You could humiliate them, beat the living crap out of them, and frustrate them into pulling their hair out, but the instant you took an officer's life, the game was over and the gloves came off. C-Sec would stop trying to capture him; they would hunt him down with a veritable army and shoot him full of lead until he was nothing but human paste.

As so often before, a stroke of brilliance brought him his salvation.

First, he opened the vent with the terminal. Twenty seconds later, he had finished uploaded a virus that would delete and jumble large swathes of data, frustrate efforts to access the terminal, and disable many of the system's mechanical functions, such as, for example, control over the ventilation shafts. Seeing his escape clear and with four minutes to spare, he decided to leave C-Sec with one last parting gift: a smoke bomb that would fill the room with a foul, noxious miasma in about five minutes. Satisfied and smug in his confidence that he would escape C-Sec once again, he hopped into the vent and used his naturally superior agility to crawl his way to safety.

When the C-Sec engineers finally cracked the door, they saw a horribly trashed room and a bloody, bruised, and battered officer lying on his side. Too late they noticed the smoke bomb, and soon they found themselves hacking and coughing, their eyes filling with stinging tears, their nostrils burning as if they were on fire. A biotic asari mass effect field that pushed much of the choking haze away; even smoke had mass, after all, but the engineers soon found they could do nothing. Someone deduced that the Shadowdancer had escaped via vent, but without a functioning terminal, there was simply nothing they could do.

The officer was revived, treated for his wounds, and later commended for his heroism. C-Sec techies were able to verify that the Shadowdancer had used one of his own devices to hack the system and reported that the officer had resisted "torture" and had not betrayed the password. They didn't give him a medal…but Anton was right: the story of his "triumph" over the Shadowdancer did get him laid…multiple times…from the same woman…who soon became his wife.

At least someone got a happily-ever-after.

* * *

Anton laid on the floor of yet another dark storeroom, stretched out over some stained and weathered carpets like a contented cat. He held a datapad over his head, gloves protecting his vulnerable fingers from the accursed metal, while he sorted through all of the information he had swiped from the C-Sec terminal. He had spent the past day categorizing the information and sorting it by importance and worth, putting various clusters of data onto different omnidisks and pondering to whom he should sell the info.

It was when he reached the enormous section on traffic regulations and fines that he decided to put it off until later and look at something more entertaining. He idly wondered if there was anything interesting left about Vakarian or Saren. He had combed through troves of data and found nothing to suggest C-Sec knew anything about Vakarian's whereabouts. Honestly, he wasn't sure what would even he do with that information. All he knew is that the days of the merry chase were over; Vakarian had ventured off into the void seeking vengeance and glory and would likely wind up taking a geth bullet between the eyes.

A pity.

Speaking of geth…

He opened the files on known geth activities. As he had suspected, there was little, but seeing as C-Sec existed to defend the Citadel and not to police the entirety of Citadel Space, this was hardly surprising. But what little there was to be found gave him a valuable idea…

_Human officers with contacts in the Systems Alliance have reported suspected geth activity in the Horse Head Nebula and Attican Beta clusters. Though sightings have been seen in multiple points in each region, most of the activity reported has occurred on the worlds of Noveria and Feros, located in the Pax and Theseus systems respectively. _

_As Noveria lies outside of Citadel Space and contact with its capital, Port Hanshan, has not been interrupted, little attention has been given to the matter and it is believed that the sightings are the product of overactive imaginations unnerved by news of the geth attack on Eden Prime._

_Contact with the small human colony of Feros, however, has been lost. Though it is possible the geth are responsible, this is not a matter of the Council to settle. The colony also lies outside the jurisdiction of the Systems Alliance, and no efforts have been made to investigate the situation. The colony's financial backer, the ExoGeni corporation, is publicly denying rumors that something is wrong on Feros._

_No other data on geth activity is available. Due to the strong isolationist tendencies of the geth, it is likely their forays beyond the Perseus Veil are very limited in scope._

Anton read the three paragraphs over multiple times and allowed his thoughts to proceed along their natural course. Commander Shepard ascends to Spectre status following a geth raid on Eden Prime; Saren is charged and convicted _in absentia_ of leading the raid; Vakarian disappears with Shepard on a secret mission at the behest of the Council. The mission's intent was obvious: find the rogue Spectre who had embarrassed the Council and apprehend him. If they were chasing after geth in order to find Arterius, the only logical course of action, they would definitely be stopping by both of those worlds.

And if Anton could intercept them, he might be able to garner useful information that could sell at a very, very high price. And more importantly, it would be fun, far more fun than his original plan of disrupting one of Vakarian's investigations on the Citadel.

Feros was out of the question; he was not keen on throwing himself into the middle of a war zone. Noveria was a far more attractive option, though he had heard that the planet was a frozen hell that could freeze God into a block of holy ice. But if there were labs rented out to two dozen major tech corporations, each filled with a feast of tempting, delicious secrets, he could scrape additional data to sell that could fetch even more credits, and Port Hanshan was likely to be a haven of corporate espionage, treachery, and corruption. It sounded like a cold paradise.

The credits he would get from selling the C-Sec data would be more than enough for a night at the bar, new boots, the services of a beautiful asari or six, a pack full of medigel, new gear, and transportation to Noveria. It should be enough to live off of in Port Hanshan for a few weeks as well. The main issue would be getting in; Noveria was not exactly open to tourists, but Anton was resourceful and had full confidence he could hatch some brilliant lie.

_Perfect._

Anton let out a long breath, contented with having something to look forward to. He laid the datapad down next to him, placed his arms behind his head, and stared at the ceiling, his mind lost in daydreams of irresistible temptresses, beautiful men, and webs of lies and deceit. Soon, his breath steadied and he fell into a light slumber, his dreams now of days long gone and a life long since lost and buried…

_Opa, was wohnt im Weltall…?_


End file.
